


Life's greatest treasure

by TheKats



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Mer!John, Pirate Sherlock, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKats/pseuds/TheKats
Summary: Captain Blackbeard and his crew have discovered one of the biggest treasures know to the world. However, wealth and fortune will not stay by their side. Only the captain survives when the English flag attacks and plunders - his saviour a creature he had never believed in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few months back, I had a vague idea for merman!John, but nothing fixed. I knew I wanted to contribute to more material in which John is the creature and Sherlock a mere human and although I have not read a single mer!AU yet, I wanted to write one myself. I hope you will enjoy our short adventure as much as I do.

Legend has it, merpeople appear only for sailors in desperate need – to save those unsavable. Other myths speak of sirens, luring sailors to their death with beautiful voices to have them crash their ships into rock.

Most people were certain such creatures did not exist. Sherlock Holmes was one of them.  
  
As Captain Blackbeard, he had been sailing the seas for more than a decade and while most pirates feared these fantastical creatures, he did not. He was not as sure about his crew, but it hardly matters. He had not grown up and deserved himself the title of a Captain to have his men doubt him or order his beliefs. To Sherlock, the sea was the only mystery to worship.   
And it could be wrathful and cruel.  
He had just discovered the whereabouts of a long-lost treasure; a great heap of gold coins and jewellery. He had solved the great puzzle of the Musgrave and earned his price. The families of his men would never feel hungry again. He could provide his ageing mother and pay off the debt his brother held over his freedom. For over a century this treasure had been lost and he had found it and he ordered his men to take and he clung to the trees on the shore as he looked out to his only mistress with pride. No man and no woman could ever entice him, not with any promises, as the ocean could with her great fantasy, her depth and her mystery. It was a marriage in which secrets had their rightful place, and yet trust was endless between them.

But like all birds on land, she had her times of anger, an irrational force that drove winds to his sails too strong to tame. He was unlucky with her temper.  
  
Dark clouds covered the sun and the water turned black around them. “A curse!” someone cried as the waves began to grow. They toyed with his ship, throwing them like a stick from one hand to the other. The sky growled at them and he ordered his men to seek shelter as the first light struck the water. Two men he lost that night, going overboard before they could flee. Good men they were, and loyal, but there wasn't a thing to be done. They set course once more to get home to London.  
  
Only a force much fiercer, much less forgiving crossed their path. If Sherlock believed in luck, he would call this journey the most unlucky they have had. The English ship they came across overpowered them easily, in their weakened state and he watched his men be slaughtered and drowned. With a nasty trip in his step, he fell backwards over the lip of his own ship. He landed flat and his vision swam before it went black.   
  
When he came to, it was just as well: they had been plundered, every last one of them. Even his hat they took. He was about to move when he heard a noise. They must still be around. He played dead. His pride was great, but if he could take one treasure out of this, it was his life.   
However, the sound was curious. There were arms pushing through water, but no legs. If a man came down here to loot further, even without a boat, there should be adequate sounds of a swimming body. Yet the second part of it was missing.  
It drew closer to him. He remained boneless. A hand, cold and wet touched his wrist and he grabbed it, attempting to take advantage of this blunt approach, but the moment he had drawn his first deep breath, his grip weakened and he coughed violently against the water in his lungs.  
The other man had a chance to kill him, and he didn't take it. Instead, he seemed alarmed and with inhuman strength he pulled Sherlock along the water's surface and heaved him onto something wooden. Then a powerful punch to his ribs knocked the wind completely out of him and, with it, the water. He sputtered and rolled to his side as he lost the last gulps of salty water from his lungs and got his first clear view of his saviour. He wasn't an English sailor. In fact, he was no sailor in the first place.   
Big, dark blue eyes looked at him with great concern and his voice carried an odd softness to it. “Are you well? I tried all the others, but I fear they are all dead.” he said from where he seemed to hover in the ocean, unaffected by the cold.  
  
“I demand you tell me who you are!” Sherlock answered.   
  
The man smiled, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “You have a strange way of showing gratitude. And what is that tone of voice?”  
  
“I am the commander of this vessel. My men have been robbed and murdered, then you appear and try to save us – I command you tell me your name! Who gives you orders?” he raged, but the strange man only had wonder in his face.  
  
“You are a captain?” he asked softly. He put his elbows on the wooden plank and rested his ching in his palms. “I have never talked to a captain before. You are quite young!”  
  
“Answer me!”   
  
“Nobody gives me orders. At least nobody that need concern you. I haven't come to harm; only to help. After a storm like that last, we always come up to seek out survivors. Fortunate I found you when I did. You seemed out cold, like your men. I had nearly given up hope.”   
  
Sherlock noted the honesty of the blond man before him. He looked around, his brow knitting with questions. “Where did you come from? Where is your boat?”  
  
The man smiled brilliantly, as if fond. A sound of laughter stepped right to the border of his teeth, but never through. “You ask a lot of questions. I have no need for a vessel.” he replied. A second later something the looks of a tail fin reached above the water's surface and Sherlock did not believe his eyes. “Why do pirates steal from others? You are a pirate, are you not?”  
Sherlock, struck with confusion and disbelief, found himself unable to reply. The strange man turned on his back, his lower body rising to the surface as he floated beside him, gaze directed at the once more blue sky. “And what do you do with the gold you find? Bury it some place else? I don't understand the concept of piracy very well.  
  
“We,” Sherlock had his voice slip from his lips, taking in the strong, muscular torso of a man and the sleek, scaled tail of a fish. An artistic example of one, he would admit, but obscure nonetheless. “We share. My crew, we.. share. With our families, the less wealthy. I never saw adventure in taking more and more fortune without any purpose for it. There is no... temptation in something you already have.”  
  
“Oh, that sounds sensible!” The stranger answered. “Where do you live? I should guide you back – else saving you won't have had much reason!”  
  
“England.” was all Sherlock could supply.  
  
The creature moved , positioning himself at the end of the plank, where Sherlock's feet rested, and set it into motion. “England it is! My name is John.”  
  
“My crew calls- called me Blackbeard.”  
  
John barked a quick laugh. “You don't have much of a beard, young captain! What is your real name?”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes.”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes, hm.” He seemed to mull the sound of it over in his mouth. “I like that.” he finally concluded.  
  
They continued in silence for a while before Sherlock spoke again. “Why do you save humans? Why do you otherwise stay hidden?”  
  
“Why would we wish to see you come to an end? Humans are vicious creatures, killing what they deem threatening. We don't appreciate being attacked, but we're also not as ruthless to blindly let others die. Personally, I find your people curious. You are very inventive.”  
  
Sherlock sat up to look at John. “What about the legends? Is this your call for my doom?”  
  
“Am I _that_ enticing to you?” the merman asked with a grin. Truly, Sherlock had to admit, he was handsome and he didn't seem too indecent. His curiosity spoke of an eager mind. “I do not wish for your demise, Sherlock, there would be no point. I do envy you, however. You get to conquer both land and water – I am tied to one of them.”  
  
“You can live in water, I cannot.” Sherlock argued, searching the other man for means to survive in the depth of the ocean. Indeed, he could faintly see two slits just behind John's jawbones, like those of a fish.  
  
The handsome merman smiled. “Fair point.” Effortless, his upper body leaned on the wood as his tail moved them forward. Sherlock had never anticipated meeting a creature of legend and yet now he was staring at one, he had no trouble believing it.   
  
He watched the muscles along John's back draw tight and release in a rhythmic succession, a job they were well accustomed to, it appeared.   
Sherlock could not explain the faint grasp of jealousy in his chest.   
Slowly, he lowered on his belly, his face inches away from his saviour's and he studied its many movements and angles as he spoke. “How old are you?”  
  
“Just a few cycles more than you, I should think. Oh, you call it, what.. Years, I believe? What is the number? Look,” he paused his speech to show Sherlock, with his hands, three tens and one eight.  
  
“Thirty-eight? That is very unmysterious.” Sherlock remarked, a slight pout dressing his lips.  
  
John chuckled endearingly. “You expected, no doubt, I was well past a century? We live just as long as you do.”  
  
Sherlock took in the deep circles under the man's eyes and the wrinkles forming all across his face. “Well, I should hope my beauty has not left me when I reach your age in five years time.” he answered in an arrogant joke, closing his eyes.  
  
“A moment ago you thought me a siren, so indescribably beautiful I could lead you to your death and now you insult my very face. You're not much of a noble man.” There was no anger in John's voice, only fondness and a bit of cheek.  
  
“I am a pirate.” Sherlock argued and he felt John very close all of a sudden.  
  
“Well, then, Mr Pirate. Why do you not show me how your youth outweighs my looks? I see you are slender, but you lack my strength. Will you really fight someone who could strangle you – more so in their own element?”  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes again, observed the daring look of eyes much deeper than the sea and cocked up one eyebrow. “You would not dare.”  
  
“Oh, would I indeed not? Why so?”  
  
The brunet shifted closer, his lips right by John's ear as he whispered “because,” his hand skimmed along an angled jaw, then down his throat, taking note of the strong heartbeat fluttering just below the skin, “you fancy me.”  
  
As he drew back, Sherlock saw the darkness had conquered John's eyes, the ocean pulled under by the blackness of a catastrophe. He would lie to say the danger left him unaffected. “Clever human.” the blond replied, a pink tongue pressing forward to wet his lips. “You forgot but one piece in this puzzle:” the thin lips brushed his chin before sucking at his throat, “You fancy me just the same.”  
The whisper drowned in his ear as a long forgotten desire stirred awake inside of him. A feeble sigh escaped his throat and he felt blackness consume him. When next he opened his eyes, the thing on which he lay was not wood. It was hard and slick, uneven. A stone beach. The waves licked up at his side and he wondered how long their soft tones had guided him in his sleep.  
With a jolt he sat upright, looking around him until he found John, sitting not far from him, a smile growing across his lips. “I must apologise. We were getting too close. I wanted to see you safe back home and it was easiest to have you out for the time it took us here.”  
  
Sherlock, remembering and blushing with a mild shame, pulled his legs to his chest. “So you wish not to see me again? Or is it not possible either way?”  
  
John's smile feel to sadness. “It is possible, but our worlds are too far apart. We mustn't get lost in a fascination that would not sustain our lives.”  
  
“My men are dead, my ship is broken. I have nothing left in this world.” He watched John's eyes focus on his. “And neither you in yours.” he said, motioning with his hand at the deep, red scar at John's shoulder.   
  
The merman looked, too, for a moment and adverted his eyes. “I have lost my life as my family died from fishermen's careless hunt. I was lucky the harpoon had missed in this way, but am I truly lucky? I have no one left. You have family, however. I found your hat swimming in the same way as us. I imagine that is your father's name?”  
  
Sherlock's gaze fell upon the black hat where it lay halfway between them. He stood and walked towards it, plucking it off the stone by its rim. “Was.” he corrected. “My father died when I was a child. He left behind my mother, brother and myself. I followed in his footsteps, whilst my brother became an English nobleman. He sees keeping me out of trouble with the Queen and the law. Still, I could not stay with him. His reputation denies me that. Our mother is sick. He takes care of her best he can, but we doubt she is long for this world. My crew was my family and my friends. He does me great favours, but I would trade one Lestrade for five Mycrofts.”  
  
“Your brother's name is Mycroft? Your parents had poor taste.” John joked, before realising what off a reaction that was. “I didn't mean- apologies!” he tried to sooth, but Sherlock shook his head, smiling.  
  
“Can I see you again?” he asked, and John seemed to consider it.  
  
“Meet me here tomorrow at sunset?”  
  
Sherlock nodded and stretched out his hand, intending to shake John's on the deal. The merman took it and guided it to his lips. He pushed back from the rocks until he could sink back into the water. A few feet he travelled backwards, his eyes on Sherlock, before he dipped back and disappeared.  
Sherlock took a moment, sitting, glaring out at the sea. His love for it the same, but it was not the scattered, unfocused admiration of just a day ago. Suddenly, his affections had a centre, a point on which to fix on. He had only known him for some hours.   
Hanging his head with a breath bursting out of him, he stood once more, climbing up the rocks into the city. He recognised it the minute his boots touched stone. He was back in London.   
  
Arriving at his mother's house, he let himself inside. His clothes had dried and he carried on straight through to her bed. She was asleep when he found her and he held her hand. Her tired eyes blinked open. “Sherlock, oh, my boy! I expected you back yesterday, what happened?” she cried immediately.  
  
He brushed a hand over her hair. “I know, mother. We were attacked and robbed.”  
  
“Attacked?! Are you well?”  
  
“Yes, mother I am. However my men are all dead.” he said sadly.  
  
Sympathy fell on her face and she patted his hand. “Oh, my boy, I am so sorry. Who would have done that?”  
  
“They were sailing under English flag. I will go speak to Mycroft immediately after. I wanted to know you are well.” he assured and explained.  
  
A grin caught the edge of her lips. “I am not dead yet, no.”  
  
He chuckled and kissed her forehead. Then he changed his clothes and set off to see his brother in his pretentiously big estate. Known by the guards, he was let through with no fuss. “Mycroft!” he barked into the empty entrance hall.  
  
Moments later the corpulent figure of Mycroft emerged from the upstairs corridor with an insincere smile. “Ah, brother-dear. I was not told your ship had arrived. You promised your arrival one day ago!”  
  
Sherlock bound up the steps, anger gripping his core tight. “We were attacked, Mycroft, under your flag! Attacked, plundered and murdered, every one of my men. I would be, too, had I not lost consciousness!”  
  
Mycroft frowned, deeply displeased. “Attacked under my flag? I assure you I never gave such orders. I will send word immediately.” his brother promised, but halted before retreating to his studies. “How did you come back?”  
  
Sherlock looked around them for witnesses. “You would believe me.” he murmured lowly, even though there was nobody to hear him. “I was rescued, not by a boat, by a man. Mycroft, a man living in the ocean.”  
  
“A-” Mycroft exclaimed, reigning back his voice and staring at his brother like he was alien to him. “Dear brother, is your head unharmed?”  
  
“I said you would not believe me.” he replied petulantly. “I would not believe it had I not seen it. I spoke to him. I became unconscious once more and had he not been present to ensure my safety when I woke on the shore, I would have told myself it was a dream, a hallucination. But he was there. I will meet him again tomorrow. Mycroft, I think.. I lost my heart.” he whispered, horrified as well as amazed by himself.  
  
“You lost your head, is what truly happened! You cannot believe you fell in for fairytale, Sherlock, you are above this!” Mycroft protested, but Sherlock would not hear him.   
  
“You may believe as you do, brother. I merely wanted to inform you about the misfortune that took apart my life.” he said evenly as he descended back down the stairs. He left without another word, furious. He had not dreamed it up and quick as it had happened, it was right. It felt as if he had known it for all his life, a reveal of a long-known truth. He had sailed without clear course and he had found it now. He decided to spend the approaching night with what little fortune he had left, stolen out of his brother's pocket. A pub would have him many beers or a bit of rum for it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

John had spent the last of the sun rays, and part of the night, contemplating. It was certainly his first time engaging in social interaction with a human. They did not do this on a regular basis. They saved them, when they could, and that was ever the last you would hear. There was a reason for merpeople to have been but a legend told by drunken sailors.  
Now, John did hard not caring for Sherlock on a deeper level. His initial and instant attraction towards the human man played the largest role in this, no doubt. He was a handsome fellow, if odd. But despite the tickle from his stomach through his tail fin, the charming character of “Captain Blackbeard” not only surprised John, it had charmed him. He was not to fawn over the phantom of a merman, he gave retort to John, letting him bring him back to land as if it were the most natural place for them both to be in. And yet he seemed not to be a man to blindly follow a story. There was a sharpness in his eyes, like the blue skies hiding an eternity of truths and secrets. John wanted to know them all and yet he would not ever need to.   
As night came to its darkest. He broke the fog of idleness and proceeded to swim out. Sherlock had told him of the great misfortune that had fallen upon him, but John be damned if he hadn't a way of helping. There was a wrack, old and decaying, that no one dared touch. Not even his people felt safe approaching the eerie thing, which meant treasure would still be inside. And likely a fiend. He would take his chance.

 

 

The sun was descending, hanging low on the red sky. Sherlock watched it approach the horizon, waiting to kiss the far sea. Laid out upon the rocks, he wondered if John would really come. With his eyes closed, he thought about it, remembering sandy hair that greyed against tanned skin. Naked skin. He'd never considered how nude merpeople would be.  
The red behind his eyelids darkened, a black shadow stealing the sun from beyond them. He expected a crooked grin, a soft scar and a faint fishy smell when he opened his eyes, but what hung immediately above his face was a bag. Small, but larger than a purse. He turned his head to now find the grin instead, remarkably straight, white teeth at the other end of a muscular arm. A drop of water hit his cheek. “What is this?” he asked softly, finding difficulty in focussing on anything other than the ocean inside another man's eyes. It went against all his believes in rationality, but he couldn't help but find himself enchanted by John. His grin was as out of character as they came and yet it was charming in its own way.  
  
“Plenty of sunken ships and treasures on the bottom of the sea. Not yours, I'm afraid, but better than nothing, yes?” The way his head was cocked just that bit to the side, the friendly glimmer in his eyes. Sherlock reached out and touched his cheek. John was so handsome in his own way, even though conventional beauty seemed to escape his weathered features. John set down the bag on Sherlock's stomach. It sounded and felt like coins. “I can always swim back there and get more.”  
It sounded like more than just an offer and Sherlock found the corner of his lips twitching.   
  
“My treasure was so much richer.”  
  
“I can only carry so much weight with me at once.”  
  
Sherlock grinned at that, his hand falling to John's arm, squeezing his biceps. “Then what are these for?”  
  
John chuckled. “Mainly decoration.” He flexed the muscle briefly, like a handshake. “Is it working?”  
  
The question was cheeky and Sherlock couldn't help but meet him there. “Very effectively... Have you ever done this before? Not with a human.”  
  
John folded his arms on the ground and laid his chin atop them. “I have experiences.” he confirmed before elaborating. “I used to travel a lot. I have been with women from three different oceans.” He held up three fingers like Sherlock wouldn't believe him otherwise.  
  
He wanted to retort, to call nonsense on that story, but somehow he felt he had to believe John. If he could be charmed so easily, no woman would stand a chance but flutter at the presence of this beautiful man. “Am I just a trophy in your collection, then?”  
  
The blond's chuckle was silly in its innocence and sweetness. “No. You were... unexpected. You know we can't be together like that, right?”  
  
“I have already married the ocean, how different can it be?”   
  
“The ocean,” John began, freeing one hand to pluck away Sherlock's from his cheek and trace his thumb over the back of the pale fingers, “is everywhere. I'm not.”  
  
“Neither are humans and yet they choose to marry each other.”  
  
“You make it very hard to argue with you.” John's eyes were bright but sad with hope and sensibility.   
  
Sherlock twisted his hand, entwining his fingers with John's. “We could just keep seeing each other like this. I could tell you of my adventures.” he trailed off.  
  
“Hah. What makes you think I haven't heard them before? A sailor half-dead is as secretive as a drunk one.”  
  
“No doubt you've heard of one or two monsters.”  
  
“Actually, I've seen them.”  
  
“I'm sure you have.” Sherlock found himself smiling genuinely. He turned on his side, moving his head closer to John's, swept away by him like a tide. The merman's eyes dropped to his lips and as his own thin stripes of pink parted, his chin tilted away.   
John's forehead pressed against his. “What's the matter?”  
  
“I can't make that commitment. Not now, not ever.”  
  
“It's just a kiss.”  
  
“It's just losing my heart. It's a promise. A hope. I can't do it. And neither should you.” John sounded pained at first, but cold and hard like stone towards the end. He shuffled back, away from Sherlock.  
  
“I alone decide about my life. I don't care that we come from 'different worlds'. We both need adventures and I will travel the world with you to find them.” He was aware of how foolish he sounded, desperately in love like a simple man. “What are you so scared of?”  
  
John hung his head, licked his lips and sighed. “I found you where you were bound to die. I am not keen on having you back out here.”  
  
“And you think you denying me this will keep me on the land? Confined to a city that holds nothing but tedium? One day I may retire, but I don't fear not living til such a time.”  
  
“Is there no other thing that could occupy your mind? Still your thirst for adventure? I know you are clever and you seek distraction.” Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. John huffed. “I may not be a genius, but I am not stupid either.”  
  
Sherlock's lips stretched into a smirk. “Of course not.” He averted his eyes. “So this is it then? You met me again to tell me that we can't happen? You flirt, give me hope, you lead me on and then abandon me?”  
  
“That wasn't my intention. I wanted to keep seeing you, but now you have shown we cannot just go without desiring each other.” There was a pause that sounded like John was trying to collect his strength. “This pains me greatly. However, I fear you are right: I must abandon you.”  
  
“If you won't kiss me to promise a continuation of our relationship, then will you kiss me to leave a memory of what I will never have?”  
  
“I can't kiss you, Sherlock, can you not understand that?”  
  
John sounded angry, frustrated. “What aren't you telling me? What are you scared of?”  
  
“Oh, do read a book, Sherlock.” Both he and John turned in the direction of the voice, too familiar to Sherlock. “Aren't you going to hide from me?” Mycroft asked John.  
  
John shrugged. “You have already seen me. As have many others, who are now considered drunk fanatics.” he pushed his upper body off the ground and stretched out one hand. “John.” he introduced himself.  
  
Mycroft stepped closer and shook his hand, though more as a gentleman than as gesture of equality. “The mystery creature of my brother's little tale.”  
  
“What did you mean, 'read a book'.” Sherlock interrupted as he sat up, his feet planted on the stone.   
  
His brother straightened himself and released a sigh of disappointment “What dear John is so clearly afraid of is an old story. To sum it up, it tells of a curse that was once laid upon a family of English sailors. In their travels they came across a sea witch with a long-held grudge against humans. She cursed them, making them what you see in John now.”  
  
“One family-”  
  
“Thousands of years ago, minds were different. That is, if you believe in this story.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John, who looked like he wanted to not believe but couldn't help himself.   
  
“What has this to do with us?” Sherlock enquired, impatient.  
  
“It is said,” John took over word, “that any human loved by a descendent of the family shall be struck with the same fate and cursed for all eternity.”  
  
“Bit dramatic.” Sherlock remarked, unfazed. “Obviously that story is nothing but a myth.”  
  
“And yet here I am.” John shook his head. “I'm not saying I believe in it. But I'd rather not risk anything.”  
Sherlock frowned deeply. “How bad can it be? I don't see a disadvantage.”  
  
Mycroft cleared his throat delicately, but it was John who answered. “You would leave behind your family and be stuck with me.” Sherlock was just about to say something, however, John stopped him. “Your family is worth the time, Sherlock. Don't waste your opportunity. After the trouble you went through for your mother? After how your brother cares for you? Is this really how you want to repay your crew? Honour their deaths?”  
  
Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I don't see how that would be a betrayal to anyone. If anything, it's as you said: I could retrieve treasures to help pay for my mother's treatment.” He looked up at his brother, seeking his approval.  
  
“This decision is not mine to make, Sherlock. Not that I was ever able to reign in your rebellious mind.” Mycroft said with regret weighing down his words.   
  
John regarded him with an exasperated look, sighing in resignation. It caught Sherlock's attention and the human sank to his knees in front of him. His hand cupped John's cheek again and he didn't care to hide his pleading look. “Not yet.” John said firmly. “Let's wait and see how well we work together over a longer period of time.” He budged up close to whisper into Sherlock's ear the sentiment to intimate to him to share with anyone but Sherlock. “I want to build something with you, not dive head over heels into cold water.”

 

 

Sherlock agreed to seeing him each day towards sunset. For weeks they sat and talked, leaning into each other as they watched the sun reach for the water on the horizon. Sherlock would often feel down his tail. Though the touch was one of intrigue, a curiosity, John couldn't help feel affection being sent through him in ripples. He, in return, watched Sherlock's legs move with great fascination. His joints were very delicate, providing fine movements where John's fin was stiff in comparison, not to mention the lacking ability to move individual limbs.   
They went swimming together once, but John ended up frustrated with how slow Sherlock was and Sherlock himself found his pride greatly damaged by his natural disadvantage. Mostly, they kept to the stony beach, idle and comfortable.   
John would often move his fingers through the wild curls on Sherlock's head, intrigued by the way he got stuck in the dry knots. The human found that part less pleasing and complained about the pain. He'd long given up running a hand through John's short hair; there was little fun in doing so when it was wet and when it was dry it just stood up in odd angles, looking silly. He briefly wondered how John cut his hair.  
Most of the time, however, Sherlock had his ear pressed to John's heart when they lay on the beach. Sometimes, John fell asleep. Sometimes he woke up as Sherlock kissed his chest.  
He was sucking on a spot on John's neck when strong arms wrapped around him. A peck to his jaw. John turned his head so they were looking at each other. “I'm ready.” Sherlock's voice made John look up into the blue sky in Sherlock's eyes, preserved as night broke dark above them.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
It was an honest, serious question. There might be no way back. Sherlock nodded without hesitation.  
A broad hand smoothed over his cheek into his hair, cupping the back of his head. John turned them on their sides and took the initiative. His thin lips felt odd against Sherlock's plush ones, but they also felt right in place, filling in a space he wasn't aware was empty before. It wasn't long before John drew back, breaking their contact. Before Sherlock could ask anything, John was already speaking. “Well, that was not what I expected.”  
  
Sherlock followed his eyes down to John's tail. Only there were no scales. “Did that... hurt?” he asked, looking at John's nude legs; now two separate limbs.  
  
“No. It felt awkward, however.” He tried moving his lower body and found his legs to be lighter and much easier to use. He kicked Sherlock accidentally. “Apologies.”  
  


Sherlock grabbed his hand, making John look back at him. “Don't worry.”  
He moved back in, catching John's lips in a new kiss. One of his legs he hooked behind John's knee, pushing his ankles apart with his heel.  
  
John released a surprised giggle. “It's weird.” But he kissed Sherlock again, leaning into it more, increasing intensity. His breath shuddered with both excitement and uncertainty, his lower body alien, moving and reacting in ways he'd never thought he would experience. Sherlock's hip bumped into his and he flinched as rough fabric chafed against his sensitive new skin. He sent a hand down to brush over his hip bone, a shudder running down his spine at the unexpected sensation. His eyes were following his movements, noting how little hairs rose to stand their pride.   
Sherlock's breath touched his neck a blink before his lips latched onto it, one of his hands joining John's, travelling there by caressing over his chest and stomach. A warmth was coiling in the lower centre of his abdomen. “So weird.”  
  
“Bad?” Sherlock enquired, stopping his movements to await John's answer.

 

John smiled and shook his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are.  
> Hope you enjoyed this little trip

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Blackbeard. Because Redbeard is a dog and Yellowbeard is a stupid name (for a man with dark brown hair)!


End file.
